


The Biggest Lies A Con Man Tells

by Fedora Of Adorableness (TheTimelessChild0)



Category: White Collar
Genre: Desperation, Embarrassment, Observant Reese Hughes, Peeing Into Things That Are Not a Toilet, Post-Episode: s01e02 Threads, Post-Episode: s01e10 Vital Signs, Post-Finale, Protective Lauren Cruz, Urination, awkward neal, bladdershy neal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24918280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimelessChild0/pseuds/Fedora%20Of%20Adorableness
Summary: ~are about the bathroom, apparently.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13
Collections: WC²





	1. Corroborating Intel

**Author's Note:**

> _I'm gonna go rummage through your drawers and steal your most precious belongings._   
>  **\- S1E8 "Hard Sell"**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was one aspect of Caffrey missing from her thesis at Quantico. But not her _profile_...

It began in a meeting. Neal liked to blame Hughes for it. 

Ever since that one time he’d raised his hands, like he had been taught since he was a kid, and Hughes had barked at him, he didn’t want to repeat the action. 

That being said, he _definitely_ wasn’t gonna just run out. 

It was quite a long meeting. He didn’t know why Peter was making him stay, their mission had been thoroughly discussed, and his attention deficit was well known. He supposed it was to teach him how the FBI does things and why it is “the right way” as opposed to his previous criminal strategies.

What a great advertisement this was. _Not._

*********************

Peter was an excellent handler. He knew Neal in and out, so of course, he knew why Neal was so restless. It wasn’t the _content_ of the meeting, not anymore. The agent was beginning to tap his fingers on the table for the same reason. 

There was nothing to do. He checked his watch. There was less time left than time passed. The opportunity to propose a small break had been missed, amid the massive interest, they all shared in the case. All except Neal. Peter just tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed at Hughes. 

At this point, Neal’s chair was sideways, so when it squeaked very subtly, Cruz turned her head towards him. She too, noticed what was the matter. Except, though she spent less time in the room with the man, Lauren had _studied_ Caffrey at Quantico. Some of the information deciphered was forwarded to the field office, to Peter. Intel sharing and all that. But not everything. So there _was_ something she’d noticed that he hadn’t. 

Which, as it happens, was pertinent to their current circumstances. As soon as he was told to sit upright and look present and attentive, Neal also crossed his legs. That was new. 

Peter didn’t see that. But Lauren did. _Hmm._ It was clear that she knew something Peter didn’t. 

Neal was clenching his fists. 

There wasn’t much she could do, but she kept her eye on Hughes while scribbling a note. When the opportunity came, she slid it subtly over to Caffrey. 

It just stated the amount of time left. Neal nodded tensely. _At least he wasn’t alone._

The reminder of the severity, or _urgency_ , of his situation did rattle him, however. Enough to get Peter’s attention. He shifted in his seat. Burke noticed the tense hands. 

“Am I the only one who finds the air a bit stuffy?” All eyes fell on him. He’d taken off his tie. 

“No, me too. It’s worse than prison,” Neal remarked in agreement, stuffing his own tie in his pocket, clenching while having the chance. 

“Blame the blast-proof windows. Alright, gentlemen and Cruz, we’re adjourned,” Hughes sighed, waving them out. 

* * *

Neal walked slowly but resolutely past his desk, dropping his hat onto his bust of Socrates. He turned around. Unbeknownst to him, Hughes was observing him. 

Once the coast was clear, he very _nearly_ sprinted to the bathroom. Peter followed within a comfortable distance. 

Reese scratched his temple in mild concern. Lauren approached. “When did you know?” she asked perceptively. 

“After you handed him that note. He crossed his arms, except he was doing everything _but_ listening intently,” Hughes remarked. 

“He was concentrating. Just not on the meeting,” Cruz stated. 

“You think this could be about that time he raised his hand and I reprimanded him for it?” the boss wondered. 

“Part of it, yeah. But not just that,” she assured him.

Hughes raised an interested eyebrow.


	2. A Compelling Argument

Neal couldn’t blame this one on anyone but himself. 

They were just driving back to HQ after an arrest, and ended up stuck in traffic. As soon as this became apparent, he straightened up in his seat. Agent Jones was right next to him, and Peter was driving. Neither of them needed to know what was going on. Not yet. Or _ever_.

Once Peter put on some music, Neal thought it was the all-clear. He leaned back, hands in his lap. Of course, he didn’t know Cruz had her eyes peeled on him. 

This time, she had the opportunity to pass the baton to Burke, his handler. But she waited. Maybe Neal would attract his attention on his own. And either way, it was too early to intervene. They would be in traffic for a while, presumably, and who knew when there would be an opening to drive _anywhere_. 

* * * * * *

Her first hypothesis was correct, as the second time Neal changed position, straightening in his seat to provide pressure, Peter noticed. It could be his back was sore. 

“How you holding up back there?” he asked both of them, but looking particularly at Neal. 

“Yeah, I’m good” Neal agreed with Jones. At the same time, he made a critical error. He pressed his palm on his crotch. Now, Peter didn’t see the hand, but he saw that he was doing something below the waist. _Adjusting himself_ in a way. 

He texted Neal. 

\- _[I told you to go before we left]_

Neal replied swiftly.

- _[Shut up]_

* * *

Eventually, the road cleared. And surprisingly, the person who requested a pit stop was Jones. 

He blamed it on coffee. Neal said nothing and tried to express nothing. 

Internally he was incredibly grateful. Though not entirely _relieved_. 

“Coffee shop’s 10 min away. _Neal_ ,will you be alright?” Peter checked. Neal turned vibrantly red. 

“Sure,” he lied, putting his knees to the side. He shrugged with his head uncertainly, conveying the truth to Peter only. And coincidentally, Lauren.

* * * * * * * * * *

The car pulled over. Neal, who at this point had crossed his legs _tightly_ , looked at the offered bathroom. He put his hand between his legs briefly, swallowing nervously. 

“Actually never mind. You go ahead, I can wait till we get back to the FBI,” he stated. 

“Neal?” Peter questioned, concerned. 

“Really, I’m fine,” Neal claimed. 

“Public bathrooms don’t bite, Caffrey,” Jones mentioned. 

“But they do _smell_ ,” he argued. He hugged his knees, looking out of the window. 

“Neal,” Peter coerced him softly. 

“Come on! I got through that meeting didn’t I?!” he defended himself. 

“What about _Brussels_?” Lauren challenged.

Neal wasn’t sweating from his urgency, _yet_ , but was now sweating from nervousness. 

“How do you…” 

“Yes?” she smirked. 

Neal shuddered in remembrance. Jones opened the door. “Coming?” he inquired. 

“Right behind you,” Neal followed, with a small smile. 

It was all he needed to hear, to not only enter the bathroom, but relieve himself. The fullness of his bladder _assisted_ as well..

“So, what happened in Brussels?” Jones asked, curious. “Nothing. Nothing at all,” Neal shot him down firmly. 

* * *

“What happened in Brussels?” Peter asked her, while they were waiting. 

“He was pulling a heist, got stuck in a vault and wet himself. I’ll leave the storytelling to the protagonist,” Lauren summarised. 

“You’re a bigger asset than I expected, Cruz,” he complimented.

“Neal probably thinks so too. As does his _bladder_ ,” she smiled. 

Jones and Caffrey climbed back into the car. 

“So, how _do_ you know about Brussels?” Neal probed cautiously. 

“And how did I not?” Peter added. 

He glared at Lauren for telling, who just shrugged. 

“My activities in Brussels, how much did you know before?” he questioned Peter. 

“You robbed a jewelry store, but nothing was reported missing,” Burke explained.

“Doesn’t mean nothing _was_ ,” Neal hinted. “But that’s another part of the story.”

“There was no security footage,” Peter mentioned. 

“Not through the usual channels,” Lauren noted. “But when I studied Neal at Quantico, I managed to back-trace who erased it. Found the server with the only copy of the footage. Copied it, deleted it, and secured it. I didn’t tell you because of what it _depicts_ ,” Cruz explained. 

“Damn Edward Snowdens,” Neal shook his head. 

“So, what does it depict exactly?” Jones chirped up. 

Peter glared at him. “Anything you say stays within this car. Right guys?” he assured Neal, looking pointedly at Jones, who gave a thumbs up in the affirmative.

Neal rubbed his forehead, sighed and began his story…

**_To be continued..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this doesn't take place in 2013. It's called an anachronism..They're fun!


	3. Brussels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal _relieves himself_...of the burden of keeping his greatest secret.

“I don’t really know how it began; maybe I _slept in_ , maybe it was the slushie I had for breakfast; either way, as soon as I stepped in the store, I soon discovered that I needed to use the bathroom. Now, as you have undoubtedly _noticed_ , public bathrooms are a no-go for me. So I just held it in. My time frame for the job wasn’t too big, I thought I’d be fine. And at first, I was. I packed up the goods, no problem. Except, while I was doing that, the door suddenly shut, like, _completely_.” Neal retold. 

  
“I kept going, with a bit more hesitation. The need got worse, and worse and worse. I checked the tape after the fact; I know there’s a shot with a visible wet spot on my pants,” 

“Impressive imaging, considering the slacks were dark,” Lauren noted. 

“I think it’s more about an impressive amount of _pee_ ,” Neal remarked. 

“Eventually, I just decided to abort. I put things back where I found them so I could focus on getting out when the door opened, hoping that it would. But, alas, as soon as I was done with that...I lost it,” 

Peter was patient, with a plain expression, just listening. 

“When the door finally opened, I covered myself with the empty duffel bag, made a beeline for my hotel room, and subsequently fled the country. And yes, I was the one who wiped the footage..or well, a friend of mine did,” he explained. 

“Mozzie,” Jones guessed. “Actually no, before I went to prison, I was _incommunicado_ with him, doing my own thing. We did write, occasionally, but this was someone else...who sucks at his job, apparently,” Neal rolled his eyes. 

“Well, accidents happen. Everyone screws up at least once in their life; _con men_ included,” Peter remarked. 

“Thanks,” Neal muttered softly. 

Peter smirked as something occurred to him. 

“And that..is what happens when you don’t _go before you leave_ ,” he reminded him.

“Had to bring that up, didn’t you?!” Neal spat, irritated. Jones chuckled. 

“What part of I _didn’t need to go then_ was not implied?” he defended.

“Right; how old are you?” Peter retorted. 

“32,” Neal replied, bemused. Burke shot him a pointed look. 

“It’s called _thinking ahead_ ,” Cruz elaborated. “It’s like your heist; no jewels _but_ you get to keep your pants dry,” she smiled at him. 

“Slight downgrade from the heist,” Neal noted, sceptically. 

“You get the point,” Peter said keenly, staring firmly at the CI. 

“I do,” Neal surrendered. “What I don’t get is why the traffic jam is following us,” he pointed behind the car. The row of cars had reappeared. 

“Admiring my Taurus?” Burke joked. 

“Or maybe it’s because you could’ve driven 5 seconds ago,” he smirked.

There was a green light. Peter gassed ahead, and turned onto a faster route. 

  
Neal found himself grateful that he hadn’t _waited_.


	4. A New Yorker You Can Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though he doesn't trust New York...not _all of it_ , anyway..

Peter wondered how he didn’t know this. It was a staple of New York, and Neal’s radius includes several stops and routes taking him between the office and his apartment. Somehow, he’d managed to travel to work _on time_ , every day. 

They were just walking home after a stakeout and ended up on an entirely too long path. 

“Can’t believe they call this a part of the _city_ ..no cabs,” Neal muttered, looking around instinctively.

“Hey, it’s fine, we’ll just take the subway,” Peter pointed at the entrance less than a block away. 

“At 11 o’clock at night. ARE you _crazy_? Come on, there’s definitely a taxi around the corner,” 

“You’re the one who’s crazy. I’m tired, this is guaranteed to bring us both home. I just have to switch platforms, the 2 train goes across the river,” Peter explained. Neal was already following him. 

“Convenient. For you; I don’t care,” he noted. 

*******************

Burke was heading to swipe his card when he spotted something gold and shining out of the corner of his eye. It was Neal’s gold card, being taken out of his pocket. 

  
“Woah, what are you doing with that, _now_?” he asked, suspicious.

“I have to buy a ticket,” Neal explained, as if it was obvious. 

“Wait, how have you worked for this long without a metro card...actually never mind, I _don’t wanna know_ ,” Peter started to ask before an answer appeared. 

“Never needed one,” he shrugged. 

“Of course you haven’t,” Burke registered his disapproval. 

“I didn’t _jump_ _the turnstile_ , I haven’t been taking the subway at all,” Neal clarified.

Peter froze, dumbstruck. 

“You’ve _never_ ridden the subway? I find that highly improbable,” he commented, sceptical. 

“Once or twice when I first came here, sure. But that’s about it,” Neal remarked. 

“Why did you stop?” Peter queried.

Neal put both hands on the railing, momentarily stroking his left arm, hesitating.

“I found out that the MTA lacks a certain...quality that holds some value to me,” he answered vaguely. 

“What quality would that be?” Peter continued. 

“Eh, it doesn’t matter, it’s stupid,” Neal waved dismissively. 

* * *

When they got down to the platform, Neal did his best to ignore his surroundings. But it was crowded, and it was hard to ignore all the elbows rubbing against him. 

“Ugh...this is why I hate the subway. All the people, the smells, fact that it doesn’t have..” he waved his hand impulsively, stopping his sentence. He nearly said it. 

“Bigger signs,” Neal supplied, pointing at good examples. 

“ _That’s_ what made you quit? You can spot a forgery by the subtle difference in the _shade_ of paint used, but not a yellow neon sentence an extra few feet away?” Peter mused.

“I didn’t say that was _why_ , just that it’s a contributing factor,” he backtracked. Neal had never lied to Peter and wasn’t about to start now..

“But you said..were you about to say something else?” Burke raised an eyebrow, spotting an opportunity to keep digging. 

“What..don’t twist my words. Forget what I said or didn’t say, the train’s gonna be ages,” Neal scoffed, sitting down and closing his eyes. 

“Actually, it’s gonna be 8 minutes, giving you plenty of time to actually give me an answer to my question,” he pressed, sitting down next to him. 

“Why do you care? So I don’t take the subway, it doesn’t affect anything,”

“Well, clearly it does. You’re gaining something ‘important’ that it _doesn’t have_ ,” Peter pointed out.

“So?” Neal continued to evade. 

“So, you haven’t technically avoided the subway, you’ve just taken it above ground. I checked your anklet; your path intersects with the metro lines several times. It’s not efficiency. You know what the quickest way is, and you choose to use your _feet_. Sue me, I’m intrigued,” 

“That’s not the interesting part. Aren’t you more curious how I’ve never been late? Not once?”

“Oh, stalling won’t help, that story isn’t long, I know. But go ahead: why are you always on time?” Peter surrendered. 

“Simple. I remember what way you drove when _you_ would take me home, and compared it to the subway maps. I figured I’d be trusted on my own eventually and prepared. You’re right; I deliberately follow the subway above ground. It’s just easier that way,” Neal explained. 

“Easier _how_?” Peter asked casually. Neal winced, rubbing his arms awkwardly. 

“Hey; you collect _corks_. If I wanted to judge you for something stupid, I’d have done so already. Try me. See if I get it, bet you I will,” he assured him. 

Neal took a deep breath, and looked down, starting his story. 

“It was right after I’d moved here. I was just waiting at the platform, and I needed to go to the bathroom. So naturally, I looked around for one, but of course, the subway doesn’t have any. I made it home just fine, but it was very uncomfortable. Especially because it hadn’t ever been a problem before. Whenever I was walking on the street I’d come across a bathroom sometimes before I even realised I needed one,” he retold. “That’s why I don’t take the subway. I need the safety of knowing if I need a bathroom I can find one within a few blocks. Coffee shops are everywhere; I never have to worry too much about it,” 

“That’s not stupid. You’re right, they should add bathrooms to this place. And yeah, it’s not always the case that you go before you leave, that’s true. It could be an exciting case, so you’re not leaving a building, just a crime scene, or you could’ve gone recently enough to the time of departure, but too long ago, compared to when you’ll arrive back home;...happens to the best of us. It’s called getting _caught short_. Don’t blame you for being uncomfortable with that,” Peter comforted, patting his back. “It’s actually clever. You got a failsafe,” 

“So safe it’s never failed me,” Neal smirked. 

“You know what? That was very _interesting_ ,”

He rolled his eyes and laughed at Peter.

* * *

Often, just sitting with Peter after a cordial conversation, had a way of lulling Neal into a sense of security. So, it caught him totally off guard when his bladder announced itself. 

It wasn’t too bad, so he just started shifting. 

“You ok?” Peter asked, noticing. 

“Yeah, for now...god this is why I _never_ take the subway!” he lamented.

“It’s not that many more stops. We’re almost halfway,” the agent assured him.

But..then the train stopped. 

“Does it usually stop completely at that point?..” Neal asked sarcastically, awaiting an instruction.

A rustling metallic sound rang through the carriage. 

“Thanks, that was very informative,” Peter thanked the ceiling, also sarcastically. 

“They’re finishing some maintenance at the next station. Less than 10 mins stuck here, _supposedly_. I doubt it, frankly,” he noted. 

“You _understood_ that? While never taking the subway?” Burke was surprised.

“I’ve got good ears. Just have to decipher what is words and what is the speaker glitching,” Neal stated, casually.

* * * * * *

Caffrey was, unfortunately, correct. It was more than 20 minutes. It was getting dangerously close to an hour _too long…_

At first, they just talked, passed the time. He was able to keep his legs crossed, though still elegantly posed, throughout the conversation. Then, he needed to hold himself. 

“I’m not gonna make it,” he grunted nervously, squeezing himself with the edge of the seat.

“You don’t know that. Try standing up,” Peter suggested.

Neal tried that, immediately doing a little dance in place. He tried to ignore the eyes of the other passengers, who he was sure were thinking about him. 

“Nope, can’t, I look like one of those wiggly stick people outside car dealerships,” he complained sitting back down. 

Peter decided to hold his shoulder for comfort, having no other way to help. 

* * *

The awareness of the con man’s situation, bizarrely, made Agent Burke rather thirsty. He reached into his pocket for his water bottle without thinking. He was about to put it back as he saw it was empty, when it hit him. 

It was empty. _For now_ …

“Here, see if you can, you know, ‘refill’ that,” Peter handed Neal the bottle.

“ **Here?** In this highly public subway car full of people _already_ staring at me?” he refused. 

“Okay, firstly no one’s looking at you, it’s just the feeling of being exposed scaring you. Secondly, people pee on the _floor_ of these trains...you’re being more than sufficiently sanitary in comparison,” Burke assured him.

“Look. the fuck. away,” Neal hissed, grabbing the bottle.

At first, he tried to pee as slowly and thus _quietly_ as possible, but as that sort of counted as holding it, and his body didn’t want to do that anymore, it flooded out. Neal just tried to imagine the bathroom at the FBI. Which thankfully worked. 

“Apple juice? It’s fresh,” he held out the bottle, grinning. 

“Bit too warm for my taste. You’ve got pockets too, Mr Devore,” Peter reminded him. 

* * * * * * 

They were close to the 79th street stop, when Mozzie called. 

_‘Where are you? You’re never late!’_ he inquired. 

“On the subway with Peter. There was construction above Penn station.” Neal explained.

_‘Why did you take the subway? You never take the subway,’_

“One time has to be the first,” he remarked. “I thought you’d be thrilled. You’re the one who says I’m not to be trusted because of it.”

“That Mozzie? Let me talk to him” Peter requested.

“Hang on, let me pass you to the Suit,” Neal introduced, handing over the phone.

_‘Don’t you dare…’_

“s’up, Haversham?” Burke greeted. 

_‘What do you want, Suit?’_ Mozzie snarked.

“Well, I _could_ have you arrested for trespassing, or I could tell you why Neal has been avoiding the subway?” he hinted, only partially serious.

_‘Ok, I’m listening,’_

“He needs to have a bathroom available on his journey _just in case_ ,” Peter explained, smiling approvingly at Neal. 

_‘And the metro doesn’t have one. Oh, he’s just avoiding an awkward train-ride,’_ Mozzie put the pieces together. 

“He’s _had_ an awkward train-ride. 2 as of just now,” he revealed, ignoring Neal’s glare. 

The call ends. 

“He says you’re a real New Yorker,” Peter informed him.

“I got that,” Neal replied, rolling his eyes. 

“Not for taking the subway. For peeing in it,” 

The con man covered his hands, and smiled self-deprecatingly. 

* * *

The following week, he was _rarely_ late. Simply as a casualty of his new itinerary. It involved the same bathroom trip in the morning, and now, a subway ride to the rendezvous point with Peter. If it had been a while since he’d last gone as he approach the entrance, there’d be a pit stop at Starbucks beforehand. 

  
He may not be a _traditional_ New Yorker, but he was certainly a smarter one...


	5. No More Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't worth 100 grand..but he did have it _between his legs_...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **SPOILER WARNING FOR THE END OF S6!!!  
> **  
>  this takes place after the finale, so read on at your own risk!

Getting Neal back from Paris had been difficult for 2 reasons. Firstly, it is not easy to legally resurrect a dead man. Secondly, it’s even harder when that dead man insists on all his paintings being transported with him. 

To be fair, most of them were Caffrey _originals_ , which impressed Peter. And Neal agreed to pay the transport costs if he paid for the truck to the airport. 

So, that brought them to his apartment packing up everything, with Peter aiding him in hiding goods not really the business of the french transit authorities. But, he refused to hide one item. 

“Before we do this, I have to show you something. And I won’t hide it, you’ll take in your suitcase as FBI/Interpol evidence. No discussions,” he introduced, heading to a drawer. 

“You’re  _ admitting  _ to stealing something and giving it away? Who are you and what have you done with Neal Caffrey?” Peter chuckled. 

“I’ve done it once before, with the ring,” Neal reminded him, taking out a pouch.

“I’ll admit a part of me chalked that up to gratitude for having me back, temporarily changing your perspective. You really have changed. How does it feel?” 

“I feel more free than Cape Verde ever did to me,” Caffrey placed the pouch on a plastic sheet, and put on gloves.

“Please tell me that’s not a thumb,” Burke checked. “Don’t like knives either, Peter” Neal assured him, taking out a small gold bracelet.

“I’m done keeping secrets from you. So here it is, the one piece of loot recovered from Brussels,” 

Peter, wisely, applied gloves of his own, and picked up the jewelry.

“How did you keep it from getting... _ wet _ ?” he asked politely. 

“Smell it”, Neal suggested. Peter did. It smelled..not entirely golden. 

“I didn’t,” the ex-conman admitted with a smile.

“It fell into my pants when I was fumbling with the goods, putting them back. It broke off from a gem, and the shop didn’t keep a detailed description of everything. They figured it was just a faulty earring, delivered that way,” he elaborated.

The FBI agent took a second to rewind the tape he made in his head of what happened. When it dawned on him he broke into laughter. Neal nodded, indulgently. 

“That’s why you didn’t fence it…’cause you  _ peed  _ on it,” Peter mocked him, warmly. 

“Not the golden toilet seat of my dreams, but I’ll take it,” Caffrey shrugged.

Burke got an evidence bag, which he always carried, and put the piece inside, sealing it shut. 

“No more secrets?” he checked, putting on a trusting tone, reaching his hand out. 

“No more secrets,” Neal took the hand and turned the handshake into a hug. 

_ Only one of them knew when Neal hit rock bottom. And the one who didn’t, didn’t care enough to ask...He had faith in him. And that was all he needed. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, the following chapters all take place chronologically after this, so post-finale as well.


	6. British Intelligence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Study In Plaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** this is the CBS "Elementary" Mycroft, played by Rhys Ifans.

It had been a chill week, well as chill as you could call a week of peeling off embezzlers, bond forgers and insider traders inside Morland Holmes’ businesses. 

It was relatively implied, that their boss hired them without caring about the latter of the 3; but anything that could convince sleazy businessmen to be less sleazy was an opportunity one ought to reach, at least in Neal’s mind. 

Mycroft had invited the whole gang to his flat for enchiladas and fine wine. Mozzie had not been informed, as he would get sticky-fingered after just half a glass of Merlot. 

* * *

“Tell me again how you stole the Haustenberg,” Mycroft imbibed, lightly intoxicated. 

“Well, Peter and I were on a stakeout to find Dorsett’s girlfriend, Brigitte. Peter’s wife had packed a deviled ham sandwich, he wouldn’t let me change the radio from sports, I was going beyond stir crazy,” Neal retold. 

“It produced a very lovely piece of origami,” Peter complimented. 

“Two pieces of origami. Don’t forget the butterfly,” he corrected. “Anyway, I grabbed a bite at the restaurant, found Brigitte and got them to invite us up to their room. We noticed a locked door which turned out to contain the painting. I picked the key from Brigitte, snuck into the bathroom, unlocked the adjoining door, and found it.”

“While I was stuck with 2 _french_ women, snaking their way along my married arms and legs,” Burke whined.

“El forgave you,” 

“Because nothing happened. What if I’d gotten... _affected_? She’d have noticed if I seemed spent the next time,” he pointed out. 

“Anyway, I forged it, wrote a quid pro quo on the back, to the guy at the Channing and the original and the fake are in their proper places,” Neal explained.

“Let me guess, the original is _not_ in the museum,” Mycroft hinted. 

“Depends on your definition of _original_. The Haustenberg is not in the museum. The Neal Caffrey is,” he smiled.

“Oh my god! That’s where we met Abigail, and I was undercover. You’re good. _Were_ good,” Diana exclaimed, sighing in relief. 

“Hey, my skill is still there, it’s the crime part that’s in the past,” Neal corrected indignantly. 

* * *

The night evolved into a game of truth and dare. 

It was Peter’s turn to ask Neal. 

  
“Truth or Dare?”

Neal, with the reasonable desire to not break priceless antiquities via fencing, picked truth. There was a statute of limitations on what defined keeping a secret from him. 

There was, for better or for worse, none but one truth he could he think to ask. 

“I’m so gonna regret this...when you said you’d had 100 grand between your legs, what happened there?” Peter asked, anxiously. 

“Don’t worry everyone, it’s fairly PG,” Neal assured them. 

“Well, that’s a comfort,” Jones muttered. 

“It was back when I was still working with Keller. I had just scoped out Buckingham Palace, dressed as a dog groomer. Corgis are infinitely cuter in person, by the way,” he began his story. “Alas, we came to the conclusion that stealing from the palace was impossible, so we held off until Her Majesty retired to Balmoral. She was having a party with some members of the devolved government of Scotland, so I donned a kilt and joined the festivities. Of course, the festivities included _drinking_ , which ran to its logical conclusion,” Neal ran his fingers through his hair. He found himself wishing to some degree, that he’d actually enrolled in a college and played the game then instead. 

“Anyway, surrounded by all these posh people, asking one of them where the _loo_ was; it was not a practised line of my alias. So I snuck upstairs to see if there was an empty bedroom with a bathroom I could use. I figured if I left quickly enough, no one would suspect a thing. I mean, what kind of intruder sneaks in to use the bathroom and doesn’t steal anything?” 

“One named Neal Caffrey, I imagine,” Mycroft smiled with intrigue.

“Nicholas Hamley, actually,” he corrected. 

“As in, Hamley’s toys? How delightful,” Holmes remarked. 

  
“Yeah, that’s Caffrey. Once disarmed 5 Feds using 1 toy cement truck,” Diana mentioned.

“What can I say; I don’t like guns,” Neal stated. 

“What about the Ruger you pointed at me?” Sara reminded him. 

“ _That_ was a misunderstanding. Apparently there were more men in black leather jackets, holding a paperback of Atlas Shrugged near that abandoned waste treatment plant than I realised,” Neal defended. 

He continued with the story.

  
“I finally found an available room and darted inside with the door still half-open. Not the slightest movement to reveal I was there,” he stated. “The bathroom door was locked properly, the seat was up, the only thing in my way...my kilt. I’d gotten the stiffest one you could possibly purchase. The buckle wouldn’t come off, so I just wrestled my boxers down, and tried to aim beneath the kilt,” 

“If you’d worn it _traditionally_ , it would’ve saved you a few seconds,” Mycroft informed him. 

“Yeah. Ironic, considering I was protecting my dignity with that; which was now at risk,” Neal scoffed at himself. 

  
“I managed for a bit, but then a lot of it ended up on the kilt, still being in the way of the stream...I tried to stop it and readjust the fabric, but I couldn’t. I just had to let it come. I was in the middle of clean up when Princess _Eugenie_ walked in and saw me. I was on all fours, dressed only my suit jacket, holding damp yellow toilet paper. I didn’t have time for anything other than dropping it in the toilet, grabbing a towel and storming out. She yelled for security, so I swapped the towel for a gold plate, and jumped out of the window. Keller was playing a security guard, so he ran out through the fire exit, and helped me free. We fenced the plate and used the money to get the hell out of the highlands,” Neal explained.

“Did Keller know what really happened or did he chalk it up to testosterone?” Peter guessed. 

  
“I actually don’t know. Last time it came up he acted like the latter was what he thought, but he could’ve just played nice and pretended to save me some embarrassment.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Keller I know..either way the secret has been taken to his grave,” Burke noted. 

“And _yours_ ,” Mycroft raised an amused eyebrow.

“So that’s what was worth 100 grand and between your legs,” Sara double-checked. Neal nodded. “Though, technically, it was _i_ _n front of_ your legs,” Diana nitpicked. 

“Only kind of,” he argued. 

“Pity Buckingham Palace was out of bounds, you could’ve blamed the puddle on the corgis,” Mycroft joked. 

“ _Never_. I named Peter after his dog, he burned one of my aliases. You don’t mess with things that say ‘woof’,” Neal dismissed the idea firmly. 

“But you do make them an accomplice to robbery,” Peter reminded him, bitterly.

“Again, El forgave you for that..and so did Satchmo,”

Peter shook his head, irritated and held out an angry fist, which ended up as a pat on the back in admiration. 

No vases were lost by others, though one skull _was_ a casualty of a head-balancing performance. 

“Don’t mind it, I swapped Sherlock’s with that of a Cro Magnon when I moved from Windsor Gardens,” Mycroft assured them. 

“Was there one in the decoy boxes you blew up?” Neal replied, interested. 

“No, that was a paper mache I had done of Thatcher,” Holmes smirked. 

“I met Thatcher once..gave me one of these _absolutely horrid_ boiled sweets, and told me to put my hair up higher,” Diana retold, partially in a British accent.

“That’s the Iron Lady, alright,” Mycroft huffed. He was a conservative with _limits_...

“You know, apparently when she died, ‘Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead’ climbed the local charts as an anthem of joy,” Sara stated. 

“More like The B-” Neal laughed, but was instantly shushed by Peter. 

“Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence,” Burke chastised exasperatedly. 

Everyone else laughed.


	7. A Viking, A Caveman and A Party Planner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've heard of Shakespeare In The Park, this is Shakespeare In The Woods.

Neal wasn’t an outdoorsy kind of guy. It wasn’t that he hated nature, he just preferred to keep it at a distance and enjoy it in finite quantities. How the Burkes had coerced him into a camping trip to their cabin in the Catskills, he had no idea. Though the fact Mozzie dug a pair of khaki shorts out of the closet, might have comforted him sufficiently. 

It was a bit of a climb, but he’d packed light, and consumed plenty of fluids. Like, a _ridiculous_ amount of fluids. 

So had Elizabeth. Naturally, no one batted an eye when she scuttled into the bushes. 

“What about you?” Peter checked. 

“Hmm?” Neal was distracted by the trees. 

Peter pointed sideways, hinting. 

“Oh, I’m good,” he dismissed the offer. It wasn’t technically a lie. Yes, he needed to _go_ , but he was good.

* * *

He _was_ good. Past tense. Neal felt as if the rocks had doubled, no, **tripled** in size in the last few minutes. 

“Everything alright Neal?” Peter registered his concern. 

“Yeah..just didn’t realise the rocks got bigger as you get further up,” he panted.

“They look the same to me,” El noted. 

“Ooh, look a bluejay!” Neal pointed at the bird. 

“Do you need some more water?” Elizabeth checked. 

“No! Eh..I’ve had _plenty_ , thank you,” he smiled. 

“Yes, you have.. _quite_ a while ago, if memory serves,” Peter narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Mozzie been teaching you?” Neal joked. 

“Neal, do you need a break?” Elizabeth saw where her husband was going with that comment. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

“Really, you’re sure?” Peter checked. He nodded. 

“You don’t need to go to the bathroom at all?” 

Neal swallowed. “Not terribly,” he shrugged. Again, not a lie, per se…

“Mhm,” Peter remarked, sceptically.

* * * * * *

Throughout the next few hills, Peter got more and more certain that Neal had to pee. He didn’t exactly blame him for keeping it on the DL, there wasn’t a _proper_ bathroom in sight. Still, he worried.

They reached a small creek. Neal hesitated. He’d need to keep his legs substantially further apart than they had been. And he wasn’t sure how long he could, or _should_ allow that.

“It’s not that big of a challenge, Neal, all you have to do is _jump_ ,” Elizabeth encouraged.

“Yeah, I know, just..trying to find the right rock,” he assured her, approaching a flat one sticking out a little more than the others, narrowing the gap. 

“If it’s slippery, I can hold your arm,” she offered. 

Peter scratched the back of his head, observing critically.

Neal took the help gladly, crossing in a single leap. His knees were bent as soon as he landed safely on the other side, and his hands kept his legs glued shut, until he could successfully stride forward.

His hands were in a fist for a brief moment. 

Peter saw his spot to intervene.

“Alright, that’s it! Neal, just _go!_ ” he pleaded.

“What?” Neal was honestly confused. 

“You _know_ what. There’s a reason why it’s called the call of nature, Caffrey,” Peter reasoned.

“I can wait until the cabin,” he promised.

“ _Horseshit_ , Neal. You might not be lying to me, but you _are_ lying to yourself. You could barely make it across the creek,” Peter pointed out. 

“That doesn’t make me a caveman,” Neal scoffed in disdain.

“For Gerald Ford’s sake...that’s it, you’re coming with me,” he pulled on Neal’s arm, using the double finger point for good measure. A gesture to Elizabeth was all they needed to scuttle off into the bushes themselves. 

* * *

“You know who else peed in nature? Vikings,” Peter mentioned. 

  
“Vagrants,” Neal countered. 

“And everyone attending Shakespeare’s plays,” he stated, unzipping at a tree. 

“You’re making that up...they had chamber pots,” 

“For the whole audience?” Peter remarked in doubt.

Neal rolled his eyes, but walked to a tree further away, leaving one between them. 

“They had _seats_ for the whole audience,” he noted, making slight noises of relief as he went. 

“Only the wealthy. Why do you think there’s that big gap in the globe, and the stage is so _small?_ It’s not to let people into the seats, it’s where the rest stood and watched. Money wasn’t to _see_ it, it was too see it _comfortably_ ,” Peter explained. 

“Maybe the Vikings had it right. At least they went somewhere they could _flush_ ,” Neal remarked, finishing. 

“Naturally. Wasn’t so hard?” he smiled

“Vikings have hand sanitizer?” Neal questioned, frowning at his hands. 

“No..but I do,” Peter threw him a bottle. 

“One can argue the difference is small..” he muttered with a shrug. “Thanks,”

Peter knew he meant more than just the hand sanitizer.

* * *

“Your Viking husband has returned, oh fair maiden,” Peter greeted Elizabeth. “And I brought home a caveman,” 

“I make fire,” Neal adopted the role enthusiastically.

“Yeah? Know how to put it out?” she asked, chuckling.

“Oh _yeah_ ,” Peter winked. 

“Hilarious,” Neal snarked, but seemed amused regardless. 

“Couple of Neanderthals…” 

“Hey! Watch it,” Peter warned.

  
  
“ _I_ can take a joke…” Neal remarked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Touché,”


End file.
